“Auntie Goonie, Auntie Goonie!”

  Aed voice rang out as seven-year-old Leo burst into the house, his small frame practically vibrating with energy as he scampered into the kit. He kly where to find his auntie—Goonie was always there iernoons, cooking up another of her famous vegetarian recipes for dinner.

  Leo adored these meals. It didn’t matter what she was making—every dish was like a surprise treat, a new experiment she cimed was for the menu of her future restaurant. Leo didn’t care why she cooked; he just loved her food.

  “Hey now,” Goonie called out without turning from the stovetop. “You know better than to run around in the house.”

  Leo skidded to a stop, looking sheepish as a blush spread across his cheeks. “Oh, yeah… sorry, momma.” He g the floor briefly before his excitement bubbled ain, wiping away the embarrassment as he burst into chatter.

  “But, Auntie Goonie, guess what!? So, at school today, Sam, Dee, and me were talking about who’d make the best hero if we suddenly got superpowers! Sam said he’d totally be the best because his dad’s a police officer and that means he knows all about justid stuff, more than us. But I was like, ‘That’s a terrible backstory for a herht?’ And then Sam said my backstory was worse—like, who even says that? But then Dee was like—”

  Goonie nodded along distractedly, half-listening as Leo unched into his animated reting of the test pygroue. His “fme wars,” as he and his nerdy little crew called their discussions, were always a highlight of his day.

  She was about to gently correct his grammar—“Sam, Dee, and I were talking about our dads, mostly Sam”—but stopped mid-thought when she caught the word ‘dad’.

  The casual mention hit her like a sp. She froze, her stirring hand pausing mid-motion as a pang of guilt and unease spread through her chest. Goonie worried that her little boy would be dragged bato his deep depression through casual versations like this. What could she do, bee a mini dictator to her kids ahem what they should and not discuss with others out of her own fear? But that wasn’t her style.

  Dad.

  Such a simple word, but in this house, it was a loaded one. A word they had ruly addressed.

  Leo had been her charge for several years now, and though Goonie and Quinn had always beeo answering his questions, they rarely came easily. He never pushed for details about his past or why he was here with them, having put certain facts out of his mind. They’d fallen into a quiet rhythm, one where the ghosts of his history stayed tucked away.

  But now, here it was, unbidden and unavoidable. Goonie realized with a heavy heart that Leo was growing up, his world expanding with eaew iion at school. Although he’d mao heal iwo years, he’d soon begin pieg things together—or worse, start hearing half-truths from others. Reminders of his old life and all the bad things that happeo him.

  “—and then I was like, nuh-uh, because—”

  “Leo.” Goonie’s voice cut through his rapid-fire chatter like a knife, soft yet weighted with something he couldn’t name.

  Leo stopped mid-sentence, his wide eyes snapping up to meet hers. He faltered, his earlier fidence shrinking as an unfamiliar, yet too familiar tensio into the room.

  That to had him on edge. It didn’t sound too angry, but it was heavy, super serious. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it too felt familiar—too familiar. A chill ran down his spine as his body tensed, and he instinctively took a half-step back, his heart hammering wildly he sweated, unsure why he suddenly felt the urge to flee.

  Goonie’s shoulders slumped as she exhaled a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Leo,” she said gently, kneeling to meet him at eye level. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not at all.” She offered him a forced, but genuine smile, ing from deep in her heart. “But we o talk about something important tonight—after dinner, once Quis home, okay?”

  Leo bli her, his lips parting as if to ask a question, but no words came. He was somewhat soothed by her softeone.

  Goonie reached out, brushing his cheek with a f hand. “It’s time,” she said softly. “It’s time we talked about your mom and dad. About who they were. You didn’t know all that much about your mother, my sister… and…”

  Leo’s small hands ched at his sides as his heart thumped louder in his chest. Although he didn’t fully uand what she meant, the weight of her words pressed down on him all the same. There was something dangerous in what she was saying.

  Goonie’s voice remained calm, though her ow ached. “We’re a family, Leo. You, me, Quinn. And tonight, we’ll talk about everything together, at least I hope that’s alright with you.”

  Leo nodded hesitantly, his gaze falling to the floor. As Gooood, returning to her cooking, he lihere in silence, his earlier excitement dimmed, but not gone. Although he didn’t know what the versation would bring, for the first time, he might have something to say about his parents. In his fuzzy mind, they were vague shadows. Goonie and Quinn had bee his whole life in such a short span of time.

  Leo Walker was born to Albert William Walker, then a diligent and focused man, and Yvette Ramses-Walker, a nurturing woman with dreams of being a doctor. Both hailed from San Isidro, a historic city north of San Frane time before hitting on along a coastlierstate highway, steeped in pride and tradition. Their union, rooted in love, was the kind of marriage that seemed almost storybook-perfect—rarely marked by arguments and brimming with genuine affe.

  The day they found out they were expeg a child was a milestone Albert and Yvette would always cherish.

  “Should we eat out again tonight?” Albert asked, his grin boyish as he watched Yvette with adoration. His thoughts wao dinner pns but quickly shifted to his wife’s growing belly. Though it wasn’t very pronounced yet, the idea of her standing for long stretches to cook didn’t sit well with him. “Let’s go,” he urged, sweeping her off her feet with an exuberant grin. “After all, you’re eating for two now!”

  Yvette let out a soft, melodic ugh, her hands clutg his shoulders as he spun her gently. “Fufufufufu—careful, Al! I think our child's getting dizzy. Y’know I’m not a traditional wife.”

  “I know.” Albert grinned, his voice warm with affe. “That’s one of the things I admire most about you, Yvette—you’re always thinking ahead and even now you think so much about your career as a doctor. I really think you could bee one! But as much as I love your cooking, I think you need a break, especially now that we’re expeg.”

  Yvette chuckled softly, resting a hand on her growing belly. “You’re sweet, Al. But I enjoy cooking for us—it makes me feel closer to you and... to our child.” She gnced downward, her smile softening at the thought of their unborn child.

  Albert’s grin widened, aook her hand in his. “That’s all the more reason to take care of yourself. No one’s going tue with a future doctor about health, but even doctors deserve a break now and then, don’t they?”

  She ughed again, leaning into his touch. “Fine, fine. You win tonight, but you owe me—steakhouse or not, I’m making your favorite Chi à King this weekend at least.”

  “Deal,” Albert said, kissing her hand. “But only if you promise to let me help. Our little one deserves to know his dad cook, too—even if it’s just barely edible.”

  Yvette giggled, the sound bubbling with happiness. “I was thinking about naming our child Leo, if that sounds alright to you.”

  Albert paused mid-spin, his face alight with curiosity. “Leo?” he asked, setting her carefully ba her feet.

  Her smile deepened as she reached for his hand. “The ultrasound showed we’re having a boy!”

  Albert’s eyes widened, his brow furrowing briefly as the realization sank in, then smoothing into pure joy. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Oh my God! We’re having a boy!” His voice rang with excitement as he ughed, his happiness spilling over like a bubbling fountain.

  “I wa to be a surprise,” Yvette admitted, a pyful glint in her eye. “I nning to make your favorite meal tonight to celebrate, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

  Albert cpped his hands together, ughing again. “Alright then. I get it. Fet dinner pns tonight! We do o celebrate! But wait—‘Leo?’ Why not Albert Junior?”

  Yvette giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I love your name, Al, but I promised my grandfather that I’d name my first child after him. And since our first baby is a boy… well, there you go. Is that okay?” She looked up at him, her soft gaze full of hope.

  Albert groaned dramatically, though his smile betrayed his mock disappoi. “A, I spent all night thinking of names! I was set on Albert Junior, or Yvette if it was a girl—”

  Yvette ughed and shook her head. “her of those are very imaginative, love. I appreciate the se, but this is important. Naming our child after my grandfather feels right. If it was a girl, I was thinking maybe Leona, kind of a variation of his name, but cuter.”

  Albert mulled it over, scratg the back of his head before his griurned, broader than ever. “Fine, fine. Let’s think about it over dinner. I’m craving that steakhouse we both love and you’ve demanded. Your delicious Chi a King wait.” He wiggled his eyebrows, coaxing another blush from Yvette.

  “Yay! A modest and small cut I think with a heaping sad. I think that might be best for us,” she teased, resting her hand lightly on her belly.

  “You’re the expert,” Albert ceded with a wink, pulling her close as they stepped outside. “After all, you’re my future doctor wife.”

  The couple ughed, their steps in sync as they made their way to celebrate the ing of their son, a little boy who would indeed be named Leo.

  Time passed, and Leo Walker ehe world, a small bundle of potential ed in a tiny frame.

  Albert couldn’t help but nurse a secret hope: maybe his son would be one of those miracle children making headlines. Although it wasn’t a practical dream, Albert imagined how proud he’d feel if his child grew up with superprag the front pages for extraordinary feats. It was selfish, he khat. However in a world where the miraculous seemed just within reach, who wouldn’t dream a little?

  Reality, though, had different pns. Leo was born small—too small, Albert thought—and it filled him with a quiet disappoi. He seemed to be underdeveloped, born too soon. His dreams of a rger-than-life legacy were tempered by the sight of his son, fragile and delicate. Still, Albert loved him fiercely, though he couldn’t shake the gnawing worry about how Leo would grow. Looking at his son, he couldn’t feature such a fragile child being the Vanguard or Midnight Avenger.

  Yvette, meanwhile, had her own path to navigate. After rec from childbirth, she dove bato chasing her dream of being a doctor. But the mounting financial strain of school loans and the demands of family life was f her to make hard choices.

  Soon enough, she decided t her doctorate, instead applying her medical training to bee a paramedic. Although it wasn’t the life she’d inally envisioned, it was a calling that she embraced with surprising fervor.

  What Yvette found oreets of San Isidro was a kind of raw reality that book or lecture could have prepared her for. The work was gritty aless, filled with moments of gut-wreng sorrow and breathtaking triumph. Although it cked the gmor she once associated with being a doctor, it made her feel alive, vital, and impactful in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

  San Isidro itself was a city of tradis—a historic, bustliropolis with a soul stained by its share of viliny. Yet it was also a pce of hope, a crucible where dreams were fed against the backdrop of danger and decay. The early 2000s were a turbulent time, marked by a strange vergence of events: supervilin attacks surged to levels unseen sihe fabled Big Boom of the 1950s. These were the twilight years of the so-called Age of Miracles, a golden era of heroism that was slowly giving way to what historians would ter term the New Normal.

  Yvette’s paramedic career blossomed ihick of it all. She was on the frontlines, patg up the broken, f the frightened, and witnessing humanity at its best and worst. Heroes in colorful es often worked shoulder-to-shoulder with first responders in uniforms, their efforts blending into a chaotic tapestry of rescues and recoveries. But there were also darker moments—times when emergency crews abaheir posts in the face of overwhelming supervilin attacks. Those memories haunted her.

  Even as the chaos subsided, leaving a quieter but no less plicated pea its wake, Yvette carried the lessons of those years with her. Although the city might have been battered and bruised, it never broke. San Isidro, for all its faults, remained a pce of promise—a testament to resilience, where ah enough grit aermination could carve out a future.

  Leo would grow up in this city, in the shadow of its history and all of its possibilities. Yvette and Albert, ea their own way, hoped he would find his p it—a pce where being small didn’t mean being powerless, and where even the ordinary could bee extraordinary with the right spirit and mi.

  Her ambunce’s sirens shrieked as Yvette drove herself and her partner, Jack, to the se of a notorious supervilin’s atta progress.

  “Repeat! Warning! It’s Gravitas!” the dispatcher’s voice yelled through the system. “All units are to stay back! There’s nothing we do until Vanguard takes him down!.”

  Yvette smmed on the brakes, pulling over with the sirens still wailing. g her fists on the wheel, she furiously asked herself, Is this really all we’re worth? It’s dangerous!? Isn’t that what we’re here for?

  Releasing her grip, she smmed her fists oeering wheel, causing the horn to bre.

  Civilians milled along the sidewalks as loud crashes shook the air like thunder. Among the crowd, Yvette spotted a mother struggling to carry her child to safety, tears streaming down her face. Their eyes met briefly, and Yvette snarled wheher meekly looked away. How many children were still trapped here, smack dab in the epiter where Gravitas was destroying everything in reach?

  Yvette’s cursing under her breath was interrupted by a ripple that tore through the air, sending pavement aal scraps flying in all dires.

  She ducked just in time to avoid a k of t the size of her head that hurtled through the windshield, sh her with fragments of safety gss.

  Feeling nothing hit her raised hands, Yvette looked up at the gaping frame where her windshield had been.

  Damn it! What happened?!

  A t k had embedded itself ial separating the cab from the back. If she hadn’t moved, her brain matter would have e along for the ride.

  As Yvette processed what had just happened, a knog at her side window startled her. She turo lock eyes with an Afri-Ameri man wearing a desperate expression. “Ma’am, please… my wife!” he screamed, practically hyperventiting.

  Switg off every other thought, Yvette aking a deep breath as she opehe door. “Take me to her. What’s the situation?”

  “A k of metal flew into her! She’s bleeding so much!” He grabbed her hands and hauled her up the sidewalk behind the ambunce. “Hurry, please!”

  Yvette nodded grimly, running along until they reached the rear of the ambunce. She pulled her hand free. “Wait—my partner’s still in the back. Together, we’ll get her loaded up faster.”

  She gnced around, noting how the crowd had gone prone on the sooty, cold pavement.

  SHIT! Why’s that murderer even in San Isidro?!

  Throwing open the rear doors, her jaw dropped. The k of t had not only bsted through the windshield but was now protruding through the wall. Blood covered the surface of the sb fag her.

  “Jack! OH GOD!” Yvette climbed into the bad checked for a pulse.

  “OH SHIT!” the husband yelled as he peered inside, seeing what was left of Jack. Even his jaw dropped, but that sight didn’t give him much pause, “Ma’am, please! I’m sorry for your loss. But my wife is dying! Please save her!”

  Yvette stared at him for a split sed, then took a bored breath.

  “Alright, we’ll go stabilize her.” Yvette nodded.

  Jack was dead. She couldn’t trol that. What she could do was her job. She grabbed a kit a from the ambuhe gurney would e ter—after she firmed the woman’s dition. She’d he woman’s husband’s help.

  “Thank you!” the husband cried, filled with a mix of desperation and relief. He sprinted ahead.

  Yvette slung her kit over her shoulder, following, not sparing a sed to look back. They didn’t have very far to go. A few civilians groaned in distress as she passed, but most of them seemed able to move on their own and not in as critical a dition as this man promised his wife was. Ohing at a time.

  Backup o get here soon—this is a bit much for just me. But I’ll still do it.

  When they reached the man’s wife, Yvette crouched and began cheg the woman’s breathing and pulse. It was bad. Shrapnel had driven deep into her back. Pressing her ear to the wife’s chest to listen to the noises inside her body as she drew pained breaths, Yvette winced.

  “A lung colpsed—and she’s—”

  Another explosion rocked the street, sending a shockwave through the air. Yvette turo see her ambus roof had partially caved in from fallen debris, but it still seemed funal. A flicker of hope surged—maybe it could still run.

  Not long after, a man floated down from the sky, cape swirling in the chaotid.

  “Gravitas! Enough of this wantoru!” the flying man growled. It was Vanguard himself.

  Below him, o her battered ambuood an enormous man encased in thick armor, his presence as intimidating as a tank. He looked like a mountain of metal, stomping toward Vanguard while moving slightly away from the ambunce. Vanguard slowly desded to meet him, their tension palpable.

  Yvette cursed under her breath. One of these damned super battles—right o me, of all pces. Her gaze darted to the injured wife. I have to get her stabilized quickly.

  Her eyes flicked back to the ambunce again, but the ce of reg it uhe nose of a psychotic supervilin ractically ent. Instead, she turo the victim’s husband.

  “Help me lift her. We have to get her away from here, now!” Yvette’s voice was sharp, urgent, cutting through the chaos.

  The husband didn’t move. He stared wide-eyed at the two figures squaring off just a few yards away, frozen as if gravity itself held him in pce.

  Yvette ched her jaw, every muscle in her body screaming with tension. The seds ticked by like gunshots in her head. She grabbed his colr and shook him hard enough to jolt him out of his trance.

  “Hey!” she hissed, her voice a low growl. “Look at me!” His eyes so hers, his breath shalloanicked. “Your wife’s dying. Do you hear me? Dying! Are you gon her bleed out because you’re too busy gawking at those two?” She jerked her toward the battling titans. “Move! Now!”

  She yanked one of the wife’s limp arms over her shoulder, her fiery gaze b into his.

  The man blinked rapidly, his lips trembling, then gave a jerky nod. “R-right.” He shifted, trembling hands lifting his wife’s other arm.

  Gravitas’s booming ugh cut through the air like a bde. “Hah! There’s nothing you do to stop me, Vanguard. You’ve never had the power! Where’s your precious little league now?” His voice cresdoed into a roar that seemed to vibrate the grouh their feet.

  The husband winced, his knees nearly bug uhe weight of his wife and the supervilin’s sheer presence. But Yvette was already moving, f him to match her pace as she carried most of the woman’s weight herself.

  “e on,” she snapped. “Keep up!”

  Together, they staggered forward, step by agonizing step, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the titanifrontation unfolding behind them.

  “How many more lives will you destroy, Gravitas?” Vanguard’s voice cut through the din, authoritative and unyielding.

  The ground trembled as an ear-splitting boom ripped through the air. Yvette barely had time tister the shockwave before it threw all three of them to the pavement.

  Her body hit the cracked asphalt hard, knog the wind out of her. Her ears rang, the world around her a disorienting blur of chaos.

  It sounded like a colossal punch had nded, but she had no idea whose.

  Don’t think about it, Yvette. Don’t think. Just move.

  She scrambled to her khe high-pitched ringing in her ears muffling the explosions behind them. She turned her head instinctively toward a fsh of light—and froze.

  Her ambunce, crushed and mangled, was airbor hurtled through the air like a missile, ing straight for them—